


An Unexpected Gathering

by dkwilliams



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, Hobbit crossover sort-of, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: Methos is enjoying his quiet life - until he gets an unexpected visit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carenejeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/gifts).



> Sort of a crossover if you squint but maybe more of a parody. Death of various Highlander characters didn't happen, la-la-la, I am in denial.

In a hole in the ground lived an Immortal.  Not a nasty, dirty, wet sort of hole, nor yet a bare, sandy hole, but an environmentally sound and ergonomically designed hole.  For this was a Methos-hole, and that means Comfort.

It had a perfectly solid door, built to withstand buffets from would-be intruders, equipped with a peep-hole for spying trouble, and a concealed back-door for escaping from the same.  The door opened onto a narrow hallway, designed to force intruders to enter single-file, with no pegs or accommodations of any sort for hats and coats, for Methos hated unexpected visitors and was known to ignore anyone who appeared at his front door without an express invitation.

The hole was well-equipped with both beer and books, for Methos loved both of these with an unsurpassed passion.  His chief joy was in spending time pouring over one of his dry old tomes with a bottle of beer in the other hand, and it was likely that he would have spent the rest of his extremely long life in such fashion had not Fate intervened.

By some curious chance, one day Methos was sitting in his front garden and enjoying the sunny morning while reading one of his books, when who should chance to come by but Duncan MacLeod.  If you have only heard a quarter of the stories told about him, then you will be prepared to hear a remarkable tale.  Stories of his adventures and his prowess with the Ladies have sprung up everywhere he goes, full of the feats of daring-do performed by this amazing man.  Methos knew well the truth of these tales, for in earlier years he had spent much time with the Highlander and had shared in some of those adventures.  Some of them had been good fun but the last few had left him feeling more weary and bruised than he could recall feeling in his long, long life.  It was, in truth, what had driven him to seek refuge far away from others, to become a hermit in this hole in the ground.

 “Good morning!” Duncan said as he approached the bench where Methos sat, speaking in a cheerful tone of voice for he was a very cheerful sort of man. 

“It was, until now,” replied Methos, in a snapping tone of voice, for he had been up very late imbibing a large quantity of beer and he was inclined to be hung-over.

Duncan gave him an amused sort of look.  “And you are thinking that the morning would be considerably better if I moved on.”

“Infinitely better, MacLeod,” Methos replied, snapping his book shut with a decided sort of _snap!_ “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.  I don’t want or need the sort of excitement that follows after you!”

And with that he walked into his house and shut the door firmly behind him, then secured several of the locks, just to be sure.  After ascertaining that his home was as secure from invasion as he could make it, he made his way to his cellar for something stronger than beer.  He had just finished breakfast but the appearance of Duncan MacLeod on his doorstep had given him a bit of a fright.  MacLeod’s chronicles were filled with stories of the Immortals he’d led into trouble, and Methos had no desire to fall victim again to whatever scheme MacLeod was dreaming up now.

Duncan, in the meantime, was still standing outside the door and grinning at the memory of the look that Methos had given him as he had fled.  After a moment he took out his phone and starting calling the numbers in his address book.  “Someone needs to have the cobwebs blown away before he joins his own collection of antiques,” he had murmured in a warm tone of voice, for he was very fond of the irascible old Immortal.  “It’ll do him a world of good.”  And with that, he returned to his car and drove back towards the nearby town.

The next evening, Methos sat before his fireplace, a good book on his lap and an excellent bottle of beer in his hand, and contemplated his lucky escape from whatever scheme MacLeod might have had in mind.  Even as he thought this, the doorbell rang in a very determined way.  He glanced down the hallway toward the door and frowned and contemplated ignoring his unwelcome visitor.  The bell rang again, more determined if that was possible, and was followed by a loud rapping and an even louder voice.

“Methos!  I know you’re in there – don’t leave me standing out here all night!”

“Joe?”  Methos set down his book and his bottle and went to the door, taking care to look through the viewer to verify that it was indeed his favorite barkeep and Watcher.  He quickly undid the locks and threw open the door to greet his old friend.  “What brings you here?  I thought you were still in Paris.”

“Special delivery,” Joe Dawson replied, holding aloft a bottle of an excellent Scotch. 

Methos’s eyes lit up as took the bottle, cradling it lovingly in his hands.  “Joe, you are a prince among men. Shut the door while I get some glasses.”

Joe obliged, and if he neglected to secure the door with its various locks and chains, well, perhaps he had other things on his mind – like the excellent Scotch that was being borne down the hallway before him.

Another chair was set out by the fire and glasses procured, and Methos had just poured out for both of them when there came another knock upon the front door.  Methos glanced towards the door and then back at Joe, and a suspicious look came over his face.

“Joe – “

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Joe asked as another knock sounded.  He picked up his glass and inhaled deeply.

Methos hesitated but as the person knocking didn’t seem likely to leave he decided he’d better answer it and send the unwelcome visitor on his way (for he had no doubt that it was MacLeod) so that he could enjoy his drink in peace.

However, it wasn’t the Scotsman who stood at the door and the woman who stood there smiled widely at him. 

“Methos, sweetie!”  Amanda pressed a kiss on his cheek and swept past him into the house.  “What a darling little place you have!”  She picked up the bottle of Scotch and wrinkled her nose at it, saying, “But this won’t do at all!  First, the bottle is too small for all of us – and everyone knows that champagne is the proper drink for a celebration.”

“What celebration?” Methos asked, following her down the hall.  “And what do you mean – all of us?”

“Where’s your wine cellar – and don’t tell me that you don’t have one,” Amanda said.

“Behind that bookcase,” Joe said, gesturing in the proper direction – he’d help fill that cellar, after all.

“Don’t you dare – “ Methos began but was interrupted by another knock at the door.  “It’s MacLeod for certain,” he muttered as he walked back to the door.  “And I have a lot to say to him!”

But it wasn’t Duncan MacLeod.  Instead, it was a pair of visitors – the de Valincourts to be precise.  Gina descended on him with kisses and a never-ending discourse about their horrible flight and how hard it had been to find his little place and _how quaint!_ , while Robert merely shook hands and shepherded his wife along the hallway to join the others.

“I need a drink,” Methos muttered to himself as he followed.  “And possibly a lie-down.” 

But he was afforded neither for the doorbell rang again in such a vigorous manner that he thought it likely to break under the assault.  “I’m going to kill MacLeod,” he muttered as he turned back towards the door.

“Oh, it isn’t Duncan!” Gina said, breaking off from directing Robert to open _all the bottles, if you please!_ \- and wasn’t that an ominous phrase?   “Unless you mean the other one – Conrad?  I forget.”

“Connor MacLeod,” Methos said with a groan, opening the door to reveal the man himself, accompanied by Richie Ryan, Cory Raines, and Hugh FitzCairn – all of them arguing loudly about Cory’s driving ability (or lack of the same). 

They each shook his hand or clapped his back, passing onward into the main room which was rapidly filling with Immortals.  Richie and Cory immediately began raiding the larder, denuding it of all the foodstuff that Methos had carefully stocked for his own use.  Glasses were filled as well as more of the precious bottles from Methos’s cellar were unearthed and treated in a highly disrespectful manner. 

Not that Methos had much time to agonize over this further desecration of his house for there was another sharp rap upon his door, and this time by an object that sounded very like –

“A sword!” Methos snapped, stomping towards the door.  “I just had that door repainted, MacLeod!”

He pulled open the door with a jerk and in tumbled another handful of Immortals as well as Duncan himself, standing behind them and laughing like the idiot that he was. 

“Careful!” Duncan called out.  “After leaving us to stand on your doorstep so long I thought we might have to take down the door, but you nearly did that yourself.”

And with that he strode down the hallway, leaving the Immortals who had accompanied him to introduce themselves hastily before following.  Methos was so flustered that he didn’t catch half their names although a couple of their faces were familiar.  He rather thought that they were some of Duncan’s old students (or lovers or both) but a sudden loud crash from his pantry diverted his thoughts and he rushed off to protect his crockery.

Before too long there were a dozen Immortals scattered about his living room, each holding a plate filled with food and a full glass as well.  Methos looked around in dismay, wondering just when he’d lost control of his own house.  He turned an indignant (and murderous) look at Duncan MacLeod, knowing that he was the source of his current misery.

Duncan, however, was ignoring him, stepping up onto one of Methos’s chairs (and an antique at that!) and calling for quiet.

“Thank you all for coming at such short notice, and special thanks to our excellent host – may his beer stock never run low!”  He raised his glass in toast and was joined by the others amid much laughter.

“Now, as to the reason for this meeting,” he continued, setting aside his cup and adopting a serious expression.  “There is an Immortal who has been gathering together children, after first killing their foster parents.”

There was an immediate outcry from all assembled and Richie said, “But why?”

“To raise them as his own little army, train them,” Connor said grimly.  “We must get them away from him, put an end to it.”

Duncan nodded.  “Grace, we’ll need you to check over the children when we get them to safety, and Cory, I’m sure you have connections for a safe place.  There’s at least half a dozen of them and they are probably traumatized.”  He looked around at the others.  “When they are old enough, we will need to find teachers for them.  ”

Everyone began talking excitedly, sharing thoughts about the children and their needs.  Methos listened to them and the memories of sitting in the barge or in the loft while Duncan talked about one of his pet projects.  For a moment he wanted nothing more than to follow the Highlander on another of his Quixotic adventures, to charge into an impossible situation at his side with his sword drawn.  And then a log fell in the fireplace, startling him out of his dangerous thoughts.

Methos cleared his throat loudly and all eyes turned to him.  “This is all very interesting, I’m sure, but what is it that you want of me?  Other than plundering my larder and cellar, of course.”

They all looked at him in surprise, as if they hadn’t expected the fixtures to speak, then looked at Duncan.  He raised his eyebrows and said, “I should think it’s obvious.  You are an excellent planner, one of the best.”

“Yes, well that was long ago,” Richie pointed out. 

“There’s no one more qualified and I have chosen him,” Duncan replied with a scowl at his former student.  “We shall need his quick wits, both in the planning and the execution of our plan.  If any of you think that I’ve chosen wrong then you are more than welcome to leave.”

He looked so fierce that no one dared to speak against his choice.  Joe began to make noises about _time for bed_ and _make further plans tomorrow_ , and the Immortals rose from their seats and gathered their things, making their way to the door.  Methos was occupied with getting fresh linens to make up the guest room for Joe, and by the time he returned to the main room there was nothing left save for a few empty bottles and a few dirty plates.

Methos disposed of the first and washed up the second, muttering about importuning Immortals the whole time.  He grabbed the last bottle of beer and his book and settled into his favorite chair before the fire.  The house was quiet once more, but instead of a contented sort of quiet it seemed lonely.  The book, though excellent, held none of its former enticement.  He looked around at his snug little house with its security system and its ergonomic furniture and couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to hide away here.

“Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself under his breath.  “You’re far too old and sensible to allow MacLeod to lead you on another of his fool quests.”

He placed a bookmark in his book, carefully banked the fire, and disposed of his empty bottle before turning off the lights and making his way towards his bedroom.  After, of course, securely locking the front door.

As he’d suspected, his bed was not empty.  Duncan lay on his back in the middle of bed, and he was still awake for Methos could see the shine of his eyes in the dark.

“You’re utterly mad, you know,” Methos said as he pulled his shirt over his head and then tossed it on the chair.  “Certifiable.”  He stepped out of his trousers and stalked towards the bed.  “I should toss you out of here on your ear.”  He rested one knee on the mattress and leaned forward to kiss Duncan soundly.  “I still might.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Duncan said, reaching up with his hand to secure Methos’s head as he deepened the kiss. 

Methos grinned into the kiss and allowed himself to get swept along in the Highlander’s wake.  He knew that he would regret leaving his comfortable little dwelling.  He had no doubt that he would find himself dirty and exhausted and in terrible peril before long, given Duncan’s track record, but he would also feel alive again.

He could hardly wait to get started on this next adventure.

 

The End


End file.
